


The Actual Wrath of Khan

by notfreyja, Straight_Outta_Hobbiton



Series: Meteors Fright The Fixed Stars [5]
Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: F/M, M/M, Multi, Next-Gen, Pirates in Space, Space Pirates
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-08
Updated: 2019-01-26
Packaged: 2019-10-06 13:12:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 9,642
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17345858
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notfreyja/pseuds/notfreyja, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Straight_Outta_Hobbiton/pseuds/Straight_Outta_Hobbiton
Summary: It started off as just a normal day of smuggling contraband across federation lines. That was until they picked up a hitchhiker. That's when things got weird.





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we're back on our bullshit. Enjoy the next (and second-to-last) episode in the saga of the Doubt The Star's kids.

The street lighting fixture above Peter’s head explodes in tandem to the whine of phaser fire, sparks cascading down. Like an idiot, he looks up, singing his forehead before he wises up. They’ve had a bit of a slow month, so he wasn’t exactly expecting much action. Sue him.

 

He moves now, though, throwing himself behind a waste receptacle in an adjacent alleyway, hand flying to his comm.

 

“We’ve got company! David, Saavik, get a move on!”

 

He hears a soft  _ “fuck,” _ and then a clang before Saavik answers him. “Security a little tighter than originally thought, Captain. David has nearly completed the objective.”

 

“How nearly?” Jo barks back, making Peter wince. “Because we  _ cannot  _ lose this job.”

 

“Give us five more minutes.” Saavik sounds like she’s straining against something, though if it’s a door or a combatant, Peter couldn’t begin to guess.

 

“Copy,” Peter mutters, eyes fixed on the street end of the alley, waiting for movement. “I can do five minutes. I think.”

 

“Seeing some flashlights through the window, Captain.” Saavik barks.

 

“... I have an idea,” Peter says, already regretting the words as they come out of his mouth. “But no one is going to like it.”

  
  


*.*

  
  


“Connor, get your ass over here!” Peter screams into his comm over the high-keeling whine of phaser fire. “I need back-up!”

 

“Almost.”

 

Peter hates his crew. Almost as much as he hates his own plans. Because ‘just start shooting at the strange people who fired a warning shot at his head’ even sounds like a dumb plan, and yet… 

 

He ducks back behind the bin (that’s starting to smell less like garbage and more like burnt plastic) just to see a blast shoot through the air where his head had been. They’ve got him pinned now, the shots coming from closer and closer to him.

 

When suddenly, the ground shakes with a boom of noise. A goes still for a beat as the glow of an inferno of flame a few blocks away becomes visible over the buildings.

 

“What the fuck was  _ that _ ?” Peter actually yells over the comms, prompting the assholes to continue shooting at him. “I said ‘distraction,’ Connor.”

 

“And it’s distracting!” The Pike hellspawn insists. “En route to you, don’t die for two more minutes.”

 

Awesome. Better start shooting back again.

 

“It worked, Captain.” Tubey chimes in over the comms for the first time in almost an hour. “Law enforcement heading to the blaze.”

 

Well at least that’s working.

 

Connor runs up behind him, panting and looking a little singed. “Hey,” he pants, leaning his body against the alley wall.

 

“Hey, Connor.” Peter rolls his eyes. “Ready to run again?”

 

“Do I have to?”

 

Rather than answering, Peter raises to his full height, screaming, shooting backwards and running in the opposite direction of David and Saavik. Which is incidentally toward the flames. Connor only hesitates for a moment before joining him.

 

They only make it three blocks, their pursues right on their heels, before it starts getting hot. Like, really hot.

 

Peter is just wondering why it could possibly be so hot at night time in a mostly abandoned warehouse district on a continent with a mild climate when a window a few feet ahead of them explodes with the heat, flames shooting out.

 

“Connor what the fuck did you do, it’s  _ spreading. _ ” 

 

“I don’t know!” He protests as he literally jumps sideways to avoid a blast of enemy fire. “It’s one of David’s projects, he just told me it makes fire!”

 

They're doomed. Hopefully the rest of the plan works out.

 

“We’re far enough away from the mission, can we  _ please _ ditch these guys?” Connor begs.

 

Peter runs sideways into a building that doesn’t yet look like it’s burning, Connor right behind him. “Come on, out the back.”

 

“Captain?” Tubey chirps over the comms. “I have good news and bad news.”

 

“What’s… the good news?”

 

“Cargo retrieved, and other than the two of you, the entire crew is on board.”

 

Peter opens a door to reveal a literal wall of fire as a burning beam falls out of the ceiling, landing to their left with a very near miss.

 

“Bad news,” Tubey continues, “You’re going to die.”

 

“Thank you, Two, that’s real fucking helpful!” Peter and Connor spin in place, looking for a path that doesn’t lead to certain death via either phaser-fire or literal fire. “Can you beam us out?”

 

“Negative, Captain. There’s too much heat-interference from the blaze, and the transporter on the  _ Shu Fu  _ isn’t exactly fancy enough to handle that.”

 

Another chunk of ceiling comes down beside them. They’re well and truly fucked this time. Peter is just starting to make peace with the idea of his fiery death when a figure seems to spontaneously appear in the room with them.

 

The man was a tall imposing figure, dressed in black from head to toe, including a bolt of fabric covering most of his face. And Peter really didn’t notice him show up. The smoke must be getting to his head.

 

“Do you have a ship?” The figure booms in a deep voice, with what might be a british accent.

 

“Fuck!” Connor yelps, spinning on his heels to look at their party crasher. “Who the fuck are you?”

 

Ignoring the question, the man continues, “I can get you out of here, in exchange for a ride off of this planet.”

 

“Stranger danger, Peter.” Connor warns in a low mumble, shifting his phaser into a more sturdy grip.

 

Another piece of ceiling comes down, the far wall cracking under the heat. And it’s so hot in here, it’s so hot, and the only exit leads back to the hired guns trained on their heels. And maybe him and Connor had a chance before, but now, with lungs full of smoke and heat stroke setting in, they don’t stand a snowball’s chance in hell.

 

“Last chance,” warns the stranger. “I’ll find another ride.”

 

Peter glances at Connor. Small, exhausted, soot-covered Connor and sighs. “Okay. Get us out of here, and we’ll give you a lift.”

 

The stranger nods. “Follow me.”

 

He starts leading them back the way they had come from, which is probably a bad idea, but hey, the smoke is starting to get to Peter’s head, and at this point he’s starting to think that death via phaser is preferable to burning to a crisp.

 

The two of them stumble out of the building just in time to see their knight in black under-armor punch one of the goons out, the rest of them already unconscious on the pavement.

 

Well… that was unexpected.

 

“Our deal.” The man reminds not too gently.

 

This may be a terrible idea. But Peter is a man of his word.

 

“You guys got a lock on us?”

 

“Yes, Captain,” answers Tubey. “Two to beam up?”

 

“Three, actually.”

 

The faint glow of the transporter envelops them, Connor, Peter, and a strange man who can take down a team of hired security in under a minute with nothing but his fists.

 

Peter really hopes he’s not going to regret this.


	2. Chapter 2

Peter likes to think that they’re all (excluding Demora, obviously) rational, capable, full-grown adults. That they can take care of themselves, that they don’t need supervision, and that they definitely don’t need to do a headcount every time they come back from a mission.

 

“Alright,” he says, stepping off the transporter pad and shedding his coat at the same time. “Sound off, who’s not dead?”

 

“No one,” Tubey says. “Surprising, considering how poorly that went.”

 

“Aw, it wasn’t that bad, Tubes,” Demora says, already sauntering towards the stranger with a gleam in her eye and a hand on her lightsaber. “We did so good not dying that we gained a member for our boy band, see?”

 

Peter ignores them all, muttering quietly to himself as he counts the haircuts once, twice, three times. Satisfied, he reaches for Jo’s phaser, still in its holster under her arm, and tugs it free, flicking its settings to stun as he turns it on the stranger.

 

“Now that we are all comfortably out of harm’s way,” he says calmly, cocking his head to one side. “I am going to need your identity, sir, before we continue.”

 

There’s a beat where nobody moves, and then, slowly, the stranger reaches up, pulling at the knot holding the fabric in place over his nose and mouth and tugging it loose.

 

David and Jo are up and moving before Peter knows what’s happening, red and blond shooting past his phaser to fly at— at— at fucking _ Khan. _

 

Well, considering this guy is a superhuman and he did cause a lot of traumatizing shit for David and Jo, Peter doesn’t feel bad about the fact that he takes more time than usual to decide what to do.

 

“Tubey, Connor, restrain them, please.”

 

The twins nod, dropping their weapons out of arm’s reach of the tussle and diving in without pause, each one coming up with a writhing, roaring cousin.

 

They’re both panicking. They both have reason to panic. Peter can’t come up with a plan without all the facts, and he won’t be able to get those facts while his cousins are trying to claw out Khan’s eyes.

 

Peter’s phaser is set on stun.

 

Tubey sees it in his eyes the moment he decides the next course of action, and helpfully pulls Jo’s arms back and out of the way. Beside her, her brother does the same with David.

 

Peter pulls the trigger twice, turning away as his cousins go limp. He’s gotten over feeling bad about that sort of thing, since he agreed to be dragged back onto this ship— it might just be Farragutian luck at work, but just about all of them have gone nuts and needed to be stunned at some time or another.

 

Then he turns back to Khan.

 

“We will need a moment of privacy,” he tells the man. “Please excuse us.”

 

He raises the phaser and pulls— one, two, three. Khan goes limp, blood oozing from what appears to be a broken nose.

 

“Saavik, grab your idiot. Demora, take Jo to her room and get a drink in her when she wakes up.”

 

Both girls jump to attention, Saavik moving to throw David over her shoulder and Demora bending down to get a good grip around Jo’s ankles.

 

“Connor, if you could make our guest comfortable in the brig and keep watch, that would be great.” Peter pauses. “If we have anything that might restrain him, use it.”

 

“Yes, Captain.”

 

“And tell me when he wakes up.”

 

“Of course, Captain.”

 

Tubey tactfully waits until her brother, straining against the weight of their prisoner, slips into the hall after the girls before turning to Peter.

 

“This is going to get ugly very quickly,” she informs him.

 

Peter sighs, rubbing at his temples with his fingertips.

 

“Thanks, Tubey. That helped.”

  
  


*.*

  
  


“We should space him,” David says as he strolls onto the bridge twenty minutes later, rubbing at the spot where the phaser had made contact almost absently. “It’s probably the easiest thing to do.”

 

“I second the motion,” Jo adds, already seated and clutching at one of the Andorian crystal whisky glasses they’d picked up the last time they’d stopped on Risa. There’s a slight tremor in her fingers, just strong enough for the ice to occasionally clink against the glass.

 

“We should probably call Uncle Jim,” Demora says, frowning. “Or Uncle Spock. Or Auntie One. Or Grandma Winnie.”

 

“We are  _ not  _ calling Grandma,” Peter says, shuddering. “Not after last time.”

 

Everyone winces, as they ought. Peter still hasn’t quite blocked the memories out. Just… jelly was _ everywhere… _

 

Nope. No. Not thinking about that any longer, thank you.

 

“Uncle Jim might not be a bad idea, though,” Demora repeats after a moment. “I mean, this is  _ Khan  _ we’re talking about— that’s Uncle Jim’s murderer, technically.”

 

“Dad’s more likely to let him live,” David says darkly. “If we’re calling anyone, we’re calling Uncle Spock.”

 

“No!” Peter says quickly, cutting the conversation off before it turned into a vote. “We’re not calling Jim, we’re not calling Spock, we’re not calling Grandma Winnie. We’re not calling  _ anybody.”  _ He tucks a loose blond curl behind his ear, loosened from his usually tight braid during the chase. “The last thing we need is the cavalry riding in. We are handling this  _ ourselves, _ like _ adults.” _

 

There’s a pause.

 

“Technically, wouldn’t it be calling the navy?” Jo asks, frowning. She may have had a few more drinks than she’d let on when she first sat down. “Since Starfleet is a fleet of ships, which also go on water…”

 

She trails off, brow furrowing, then shakes her head, downing the rest of her whisky.

 

“... Right.” Tubey looks back at Peter. “What do you want to do?”

 

“I want to talk to Khan,” he says. “Without the threat of him getting his teeth knocked out. Can we manage that?”

 

“I believe I can keep David busy for an hour or two,” Saavik says immediately, which doesn’t say good things about what’s going on in her bondmate’s head, honestly.

 

Peter looks at Jo, who scowls.

 

“Fuck you,” she mutters, slumping forward in her chair to cradle her glass. “I’ll stay here, alright?”

 

“Thank you for understanding, Jo.”

 

“Yeah, whatever.”

 

Peter’s comm flashes at his belt.

  
  


Connor:

He is awake and speaking nonsense.

He asks for sanctuary from Khan Noonien Singh.

You ought to get down here.

  
  


Well, fuck.


	3. Chapter 3

“I was his second in command,” the-man-who-isn’t-Khan says from behind the glass. “When Marcus woke me, I— well, to put it simply, I thought my chances were better out of the pod.”

 

“You lied to Marcus,” Peter says flatly. “He wanted the actual Khan, not you.”

 

The man— John Harrison is what he calls himself— inclines his head.

 

“It was a calculated move,” he says. “There was no situation in which Singh would be joining me in the waking world, not while I was already conscious. I could assume his identity without consequence.”

 

“Yes, I suppose I can follow your reasoning.” It’s a placeholder, rather than an actual answer, giving Peter time to prioritize his questions. “How did your current situation come to be? That you were all reawakened, and that you escaped Khan’s wrath?”

 

“There was a malfunction, at the base where we were being kept,” John says, arching an eyebrow. “As your people abhor the very thought of murder, they ensured that protocols were in place so, should there be some kind of accident, we would be processed safely— at least, that’s what I assume, as my fa— my crew was all accounted for.”

 

John looks down, then, frustrated.

 

“Khan discovered what I had done before I could explain,” he says, shaking his head. “I barely escaped with my life… That was three months ago.”

 

“And you decided to approach my crew… why?” Peter cocks his head, expression soft and curious despite the rigid lines of his body. “Because of our family?”

 

John straightens.

 

“James Kirk is an honorable man,” he says. “A shining example of mercy and goodness in the face of adversity. It stands to reason that he would raise his children with those ideals in mind.” His lip curls. “Kirk didn’t kill me when he had the chance despite having a very good reason to do so. It stands to reason his child would hesitate similarly.”

 

Peter sighs.

 

“Well, you’re wrong on that point,” he says, tugging at the tip of his braid absently. “David is Uncle Jim’s son, not me, and he is prepared to chuck you out of an airlock face-first. The only reason _ I  _ did  _ not  _ kill you is because I always prepare for the event that I want to add ‘murder’ to my list of crimes.” Grand theft auto, larceny, burglary, arson, assault, and breaking and entering are all quite enough, thank you— even if that tally only exists in the sanctity of Peter’s own, well-organized mind.

 

“Be that as it may,” Khan says, dipping his chin. “My prediction was correct. Here I am, aboard the ship of Captain Peter Kirk, and I live.”

 

“For now,” Peter reminds him. “David is much cleverer than he looks, and this is Jo’s ship, even if it is technically in my name. Connor’ll be watching over you, but I don’t think he much cares about whether or not we can deliver you safely to the authorities.” Peter glances over at Connor, who shrugs.

 

“I am ambivalent,” he says. “Despite the fact that I most certainly suffered traumas I don’t yet fully understand as a survivor of the crash Mr. Harrison instigated, I find myself absolutely uninterested in his presence aboard the ship.” Connor pauses thoughtfully. “If anyone really put in the effort to try and kill him, I’d probably let them. If they were interesting about it.”

 

“Exactly.” Peter nods in satisfaction as he turns back to John. “So with that in mind—”

 

The steel doors separating the brig from the rest of the ship drag open with a rusty screech, and Jo strides in, thundering down the steel-grate steps before coming to a halt in front of John’s cell.

 

“Jo,” Peter greets her, eyeing her warily as she pauses to inspect their guest.

 

“I know you’re not gonna kill him,” she says, purposefully turning away to look at Peter instead. She holds out what looks like…

 

“Is that… chainmail?”

 

“It’s a Klingon _ gran’roq a’qohra,” _ Connor says, arching an eyebrow in surprise. “That’s a very expensive toy you have there, Jo.”

 

“I’m aware,” Jo says shortly. “Connor, open a vent. Khan, you’re gonna put this on, got it?”

 

A section of the shield falls away, and Jo shoves the shirt through the opening. Khan takes it, watching her intently for a moment before shrugging and stripping off his shirt. There’s a moment of awkward silence as he struggles to pull the shirt over his head, but the moment passes and then, he’s dressed, looking vaguely uncomfortable as he stares back at them through the shield.

 

And then, Jo gargles, and the shirt starts to glow.

 

“Voice-activated, _ nice,”  _ Connor says, grinning. “Where’d you get it?”

 

“Ancient Piratey Secret,” Jo says, a darkly satisfied edge to her smile as the shirt visibly tightens along John’s chest and shoulders. “You want one? I can get you a good deal, actually—”

 

“Excuse me,” Peter interrupts politely. “But could somebody please explain to me what a Klingon granola-cola is?”

 

“Klingon sex toy,” Connor answers immediately. “Meant to stimulate the erogenous zones in the most frustrating way possible, as far as a Klingon is concerned— electrocution.” Connor points. “See how the collar’s risen up a little bit? Klingons supposedly have an erogenous zone at the base of their neck.”

 

“Other zones, for clarity’s sake, include the armpits, nipples, abdomen, and along the spine,” Jo continues, smile widening as she turns to look at an increasingly horrified-looking John Harrison. “To a Klingon, the shocks feel like a light tickle— they’ve got tougher skins than us. To a Human, though…” Jo trails off, rolling her shoulders languidly. “It’s triggered by sharp movements, so as long as you move slow, you should be just fine.” She reaches over to drop the shield completely, reaching across the threshold to clap her hand heavily on John’s shoulder. He jumps, mouth twisting he experiences what Peter imagines to be rather intense pain.

 

“Good luck,” she says cheerfully, stepping away. “Connor, Tubey says it’s your turn to make dinner.”

 

Connor curses and hurries after her into the main hold, leaving Peter alone with John.

 

“... I think this could be more awkward,” Peter says, looking at John. “I mean, yeah, I just had the knowledge of my older cousin’s fetishes forced upon me in the form of what will probably be a very effective if inhumane and probably really creepy way of managing a prisoner, but it could be worse. Right?”

 

John looks… strangely pale. Possibly a little faint, though Peter isn’t sure why, exactly. Maybe this terrible new implication at his short-term future of bondage under the crew of the  _ Shu Fu. _

 

Gross.

 

“Well,” Peter says, clearing his throat. “I’m… going to leave now.” He turns the force field back on, which John doesn’t argue with. “Have fun?”

 

John blinks back at him. Peter does the only thing he can do, and flees.


	4. Chapter 4

Peter storms up to the mess. Well, he says mess. It’s more like a glorified breakfast nook with a replicator, coffee pot, and a cabinet full of booze that runs chronically understocked. Which is a surprise to no one— they all know how much Jo takes after her father.

 

Speaking of the booze…

 

“Is that the good scotch?” Peter asks Saavik as he collapses into a chair across from her and David.

 

“It was this or murder,” she sighs, shooting her bondmate a exasperated glance. “I managed to persuade him  _ against _ murder.”

 

“Damn shame, that.” David grumbles before gulping down half of his glass.

 

Saavik purses her lips slightly. “David—”    
  


Peter holds up his hand and she cuts herself off. “You got something to say, Marcus, say it.”

 

There’s a beat of silence before his cousin lets out a slow chuckle. “Yeah, I’ve got quite a bit to say, Captain.” He downs the rest of his drink, and Saavik refills it in silence. “First of all, how dare you?”

 

“How dare I what, David?”

 

“You brought a genocidal maniac onto our ship! You know the rules, man. The ‘no tolerance for genocidal maniacs’ thing is number one.”

 

“I thought ‘no mercy for slave traders’ was number one?” Saavik asks, carefully hiding her expression with her cup when David turns to glare at her.

 

There’s a beat, and then, David allows himself a small smile. It fades as quickly as it comes. “He killed my dad, Pete.”

 

“Yeah, but he got better.”

 

“I do not believe that excuses it,” Saavik says.

 

“It most certainly does not.” David takes another long sip. “And you know who didn’t get better? My grandfather. Or the thousands that died in that crash. This isn’t a joke.”

 

Peter sighs. He greatly underestimated his cousin’s level of fury. He’s gone through anger and into calm. He’s got to deescalate the situation.

 

“You’re right. It isn’t a joke. The pile of shit that we just wiped our feet in isn’t funny either. Because that guy down there? He’s using our ship to run from Khan.”

 

Saavik and David glance at each other and then look at Peter with looks of curiosity so identical is like their telepathy is a visible trait.

 

“Yeah. Turns out that dude is actually a guy named John Harrison from Khan’s crew. His XO, he says. And apparently the whole crew is up and gallivanting about space and the actual Khan is not super happy about the identity theft.”

 

There’s a moment's pause where the hive mind in front of him tries to figure out if he’s fucking with them. And then they both softly curse in unison.

 

“Should we call the navy now?” Saavik asks. “Or after we take this guy to the nearest starbase to be hanged?”

 

“I say after,” Peter can feel the stress starting to bleed out of him. David was going to be the hardest to sway on keeping the guy alive and delivering him to the proper authorities. It should be smooth sailing from now on.

 

Peter is immediately shown why thinking positive thoughts never works out for him as Demora crashes into the room.

 

“Captain if you don’t come up with a good reason why this guy is still on our boat Jo is going to kill him.”

 

Before he can even think of something to say to that, Jo barrels in behind her. “It would be really easy, too. Do you want to know how easy?”

 

Saavik arches an eyebrow. “Do tell.”

 

“The three top settings on that  _ gran’roq a’qohra  _ are fatal to humans. I figure the top one is fatal enough to kill a supervillain.”

 

“I’m sorry,” Saavik looks more shocked than Peter’s ever seen her. “Should I ask  _ why  _ you own one of those?”

 

“Not unless you want me to ask about the noises I hear coming from you and David’s room.”

 

“What noises?” David asks with alarmingly genuine confusion.

 

“All the yelling and cursing,” Demora speaks slowly, as if he’s concussed. “I can hear you from across the hall.”

 

“Do you mean me losing at cards?”

 

“He is very bad at Uno, Jo,” Saavik adds with a grimace.

 

There’s a beat of silence where (if Peter is reading the room right) no one wants to be the one to question the validity of that statement. At least not out loud.

 

And then the beat of silence stretches on to a moment. And the moment keeps going.

 

Now the silence is this tangible thing, and they are all frantically looking around the room and trying to avoid eye contact, and Peter just wishes they could go back to a simpler time when he could stubbornly pretend that none of his cousins have a sex-life.

 

Their sanities are saved, surprisingly, by Tubey.

 

The intercom crackles as it always does before her voice transmits ship-wide. “Captain to the bridge. We’ve got company.”

  
  


*.*

  
  


“You know she said ‘Captain,’ right?” Peter snips at his cousins as they all bolt for the bridge. “Not ‘entire crew.’”

 

“It’s  _ my _ fucking ship.” Jo barks back, practically pushing him out of the way.

 

“And we just want to see what’s going on!” David calls from somewhere behind him.

 

He’s fighting a losing battle here, and he knows it. “Fine, Demora go to the brig. Send Connor up and keep an eye on the prisoner.”

 

“But, I—”

 

“Now, Demo.”

 

She huffs, but turns around, heading back the other way. At least Demora listens, no matter how much she complains while she does.

 

Peter and company crash onto the bridge like a herd of poorly trained circus elephants, to the little surprise but great exasperation of Tubey.

 

She doesn’t comment on the chaos of everyone finding their places on the bridge. The little Pike demon just hops out of the Captain’s chair and side steps so that when Peter sits down, she’s perfectly to his right, facing the viewscreen.

 

“We’re receiving a hail on a priority one channel, Captain. Figured you’d want to take it yourself.”

 

This is going to be bad, he can just feel it. Better get it over with.

 

“Onscreen,” he nearly sighs, Tubey already halfway across the bridge with that graceful, almost dance-like walk she has.

 

The command has barely left his lips before the viewscreen changes from the ambient navigation array to the incoming hail.

 

The man who appears on the screen is dark compared to Peter’s own complexion, with a large, regal nose and a strong jaw. His thin mouth is fixed into a perfectly pleasant smile that doesn’t quite cover the cold look in his dark, clever eyes, and his hair is pulled back into a tight black ponytail that Peter can’t see the end of.

 

Peter knows he’s staring, but he just can’t look away— especially not after his gaze drops a little to see the man's chest. His smooth, muscled,  _ oiled _ chest that is visible between the lapels of a unfairly low cut shirt.

 

“To the Captain of the  _ Shu Fu, _ ” the man who is clearly the hero of one of Jo’s trashy romance novels begins. His voice is like honey, touched with an accent Peter can’t quite place. “I am Khan Noonien Singh, of the  _ Botany Bay.” _ The man— the real Khan, apparently— smiles like they're sharing a joke. “I think you have something that belongs to me.”

 

Peter, as a rule, isn’t a fantastic liar. At this point in his life, he’s passable— he does crimes, after all— but he’s not perfect, especially when he’s looking into the face of the most beautiful man he’s ever seen. This is a bad thing, because Peter is not an idiot, and Peter knows Khan, on top of being obscenely pretty, is also very, very violent.

 

Luckily, he doesn’t have to come up with a lie in that moment, because at the exact same second that he opens his mouth, Connor— who apparently slipped in at some point during this grand reveal of a clusterfuck— makes his presence known with three little words.

 

“Wow. He’s hot.”

 

Peter closes his eyes and counts backwards from ten.

 

This isn’t going to be fun.


	5. Chapter 5

Khan is a tough motherfucker, Peter can tell just by looking at him. What he couldn’t tell just by looking at him was how smart he was, because fifteen minutes into the call Peter is nodding and smiling and _ agreeing to Khan’s request to board the ship.  _ Jesus, Peter’s going to get them all killed over one handsome bastard with a silver tongue.

 

The moment the screen goes dark, Peter’s senses return to him, and his stomach goes cold with dread.

 

Thin fingers wrap around his elbow, grip gentle but firm.

 

“Peter,” Tubey says carefully. “This is a bad idea.”

 

_ “Yes, _ yes it is,” Peter agrees, tugging the end of his ponytail nervously. “But it’s too late to take it back, I think.”

 

Tubey meets Peter’s eyes with her own, peering into his face like she’s looking for something. Then, she turns away, squeezing his arm before pulling away.

 

“Connor, tie Harrison up and throw him in the cargo hold,” she barks, striding towards the transporter room. “One of the drop holds, please.”

 

Peter winces but doesn’t argue— the drop holds are used to hold only their most dangerous contraband, the sort of stuff that would get them killed if they were caught with it. As such, those holds are equipped with a safety feature that allows them to space whatever it is that’s going to get them in trouble.

 

It’s not a good idea, not with David walking around with murder in his eyes and Jo with liquid courage keeping her upright… but it’s probably safer for them if they do it, just in case.

 

Yeah, Peter keeps his mouth shut. 

 

Tubey’s better at making these decisions, anyway.

  
  


*.*

  
  


Connor likes to think of himself as a rational, relatively logical individual. He’s no Vulcan, but he’s pretty practical when it comes to most social situations.

 

“I have the sudden urge to jump you— in a sexy way.”

 

Some would say blunt.

 

Khan, the man in question, seems rather amused by Connor’s words, which… is not usually the response Connor gets, but okay. Amusement looks good on him.

 

“It happens,” he says, and Christ, does the man always purr when he speaks? He’s— well, Connor would hesitate to say god, considering Khan’s history— but he’s something close to it, all chiseled muscles and white teeth and sharp, clever eyes.

 

He’d talked circles around Peter, so Connor feels no shame when he feels himself flush under his gaze.

 

“I’m Connor,” he says, sticking out a hand. “Connor Three Pike.”

 

“A pleasure,” Khan says, and his palm is soft against Connor’s when he reaches out to shake. “But— if I may ask, do you have any relation to Admiral Christopher Pike?”

 

Peter opens his mouth but Connor’s already nodding.

 

“He is my father,” he says, eyes fixed on Khan’s. “Why? Do you want to kill him?”

 

“Kill him? On the contrary, Mr. Connor,” Khan says, giving him a charming smile. “I’d like to thank him, if I may. He advocated against the destruction of my people while we slept— we owe him our lives.”

 

“Oh.”

 

“Our father can be a merciful man,” Tubey says, stepping up behind Connor’s shoulder. “But he is not to be underestimated.”

 

“Tubey, please,” Peter says. “I apologize, Captain Singh— it’s not often we have company on our ship. It makes the crew nervous.”

 

“Completely understandable, Captain Kirk,” Khan says, inclining his head. “I imagine it is hard to accidentally run into another ship out here.” he gestures towards the windows, to the stars twinkling in the distance.

 

“Almost impossible,” Peter agrees. “Which means I have to ask— why have you been looking for us?”

 

Khan hums.

 

“I was not specifically looking for you, Captain Kirk, though it is most interesting that you were who I found at the end of the trail.” He arches an eyebrow, finally tearing his gaze from Connor’s. “Tell me— have you taken on any new passengers since you last landed?”

 

“No,” Peter says, expression carefully flat. “How do you know about Admiral Pike?”

 

Khan shifts, turning his body more fully away from Connor, which is a damn shame.

 

“The facility where we were being held suffered critical power failure,” Khan says, shifting. “The systems that powered our pods failed, and we were awoken.” He shrugs. “After that, it was simply a matter of scouring the databanks within the facility. There we found a detailed account of the events leading to our placement within the facility. Admiral Pike was mentioned, as was your father, Captain Kirk.”

 

Peter frowns slightly, and Khan smiles.

 

“Was I incorrect in my assumptions?” he asks. “Is Captain James Kirk not your father.”

 

“My uncle,” Peter says. “My weapons’ specialist is his son. David.”

 

“Marcus,” David supplies, mouth twisting into a humorless smile. “I’m sure that name came up as well.”

 

Khan blinks at them both.

 

“It did,” he admits. “This ship… it is not a Federation ship.”

 

“It is not,” Tubey says. “We are civilians, albeit _ very  _ well connected civilians.”

 

“Are all of you…” Khan trails off, eyes darting between the crew assembled before him. “Are all of you the children of Starfleet officers?”

 

Connor sees Peter thinking about his answer, which is stupid. After all, sometimes it’s best for people to know you’re better than them.

 

(At the same time, Peter’s always worried about the long game, and playing the long game usually does require a moment or two of thought. At least, that’s the excuse he gives when his rescues take too long.)

 

“Demora is the daughter of my uncle’s pilot and a civilian contractor,” Peter says after a moment. “David is the grandson of Admiral Marcus and the son of Jim Kirk. I am Jim Kirk’s nephew. Jo is the daughter of my uncle’s CMO, and Saavik is a ward of my adoptive father’s, as well as David’s bondmate.”

 

Khan arches an eyebrow.

 

“All familiar names,” he murmurs. “And yet you fly such an…  _ unusual  _ ship.”

 

“We’re smugglers,” Jo says, crossing her arms. “And yes, our parents are aware.”

 

Fuck, Khan has a handsome laugh. Does that make sense, a handsome laugh? Whatever, Connor doesn’t care.

 

“And how did your parents take your career choices?” he asks. “They must have been quite shocked.”

 

“Mother was happy we chose a profession at all,” Connor says. Is he smiling? He thinks he’s smiling. “Our father… got over it.”

 

“Whatever you’re looking for, we don’t have it,” Peter says. “Probably.”

 

“Probably?”

 

Peter shrugs.

 

“We keep all sorts of interesting things on this ship,” he says. “But unless you want booze or a blood portrait of Emperor Kragok the Conqueror, you’re out of luck, I’m afraid.”

 

Khan stares at him a moment, then smiles, sharper than before.

 

“If that’s the case, then you won’t mind if I have a look around,” he says. “Would you, Captain?”

 

Peter stiffens, and Khan arches an eyebrow in challenge.

 

“... Of course not, Captain Singh,” he says. “But only if you pinky promise not to tell anybody important.”

 

“You have my word,” Khan says, pressing a hand over his heart. “I have little love for authority, strange as it might seem.”

 

“It’s not so strange,” Peter says. “David, if you could—”

 

“I’ll show him around,” Connor interrupts. “Unless you want David to get distracted with history questions.”

 

“I would _ not,”  _ David says. _ “You’re  _ the one with the fascination with late twentieth century slang, not me. And anyway—”

 

“Shut up, David,” Peter says, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Fine. Connor, show him around. Saavik. Everyone else, back to your stations— Tubey, you’re with me.” He looks back to Khan. “We’re having lunch in an hour. If you like, you’re more than welcome to join us.” Peter hesitates. “I’ve read your file, Captain Singh. If you have any questions, I’m sure we’ll be answer at least a few.”

 

Khan dips his chin.

 

“I would appreciate that very much, thank you,” he says. Then, he looks at Connor, holding out an arm. “Shall we, Mr. Connor?”

 

Connor feels himself flush again, and yeah, he’s definitely smiling at least a little when he loops his arm around Khan’s.

 

“Cargo hold first?” he asks, tugging Khan gently into the hall. “Unless you want to stop by my room, first.”

 

As Khan laughs, Connor can just hear David groan before the doors slide shut behind them.

 

He doesn’t care.


	6. Chapter 6

Almost the instant the door slides shut, the room erupts into a deafening cacophony of various protests. Jo’s basically in Peter’s face, yelling.

 

“Have you lost what little sanity you have left, Kirk? He’s going to find him!”

 

“Connor is not stupid,” Tubey barks back.

 

“Are we sure?” Saavik snaps. “He’s making heart eyes at a war criminal!”

 

“Oh, and he’s the crazy one?” David’s voice is cold. “Pete’s the one forcing us all to harbor a mass murdering genocidal maniac!”

 

The screaming devolves at that point, and Peter is not even trying to keep up now. No, instead he just closes his eye, takes a deep breath, and counts to ten.

 

“Can everyone please SHUT THE FUCK UP!” he booms, then opens his eyes to five dumbstruck expressions.

 

Okay, scratch that. Four equally dumbstruck expressions and one Illyrian death glare promising immediate harm to his person should he ever tell Tubey to shut up again. Which, honestly? Fair.

 

“Sorry,” he says almost out of the side of his mouth to her, which gets him a curt nod. Feeling slightly less afraid for his life and or internal organs, Peter continues. “We could spend all day playing the blame game, but it would be  _ very _ unwise. Because there is someone who I can only sufficiently describe as a supervillain loose on our ship with Connor who is making Number Two here look like the normal sibling right now.”

 

He looks around the bridge. David at least has the sense to look a little ashamed of himself. Jo just takes another swig of her drink (which she’s taking straight out of the bottle now).

 

“What we  _ need _ to be doing is coming up with a plan. Or twelve. Because this thing can go so many different kinds of sideways I don’t think I can even list all of the potential complications.”

 

“I’m on board with anything that will get both of those assholes off of my ship.” Jo punctuates with another long swallow. “And us well away from  _ that _ ship.”

 

Okay. Peter can work with that.

 

“Let’s get to work.”

  
  


*.*

  
  


The problem is the only plan they’ve managed to come up with that has any sort of viability is the one they’ve kind of already got: play nice to Khan until he leaves on his own, and then hightail it to the nearest starbase and hand Harrison over to the authorities. Which sounds like a great plan until one factors in the sudden heart eyes exploding out of Connor’s chest like a early twentieth century cartoon character.

 

And they don’t manage to find a work around that sideshow of a problem before Connor walk back in with Khan.

 

Sorry, allow Peter to rephrase.

 

Khan strides back onto the bridge, Connor hanging off his arm like a Victorian heroine, and laughing at whatever the living marble statue before them had just said.

 

“Oh, Captain!” Khan calls amicably, as though he had just noticed them. “You're crewmember here just gave me a most thorough tour.”

 

Peter’s eyebrow is high enough up on his forehead that he thinks he might even look a little like Sarek. “And you didn’t find what you were looking for?”

 

“Fortunately for all of you, no.” Khan flashes a charming smile. “And most fortunate for me and my people as well. You are all very interesting and…” he glances fondly at Connor, “accommodating folk. It would be a shame to kill you.”

 

“That’s a red flag right fucking there,” Jo mutters lowly.

 

Not lowly enough, for a dark shadow flits briefly over Khan’s face before he returns to his overly genial expression. “I believe I was invited to lunch, Captain?”

 

“You were.” Connor practically trills. “We’d better head back to the mess now then, I know you can’t stay all day.”

 

“Which is such a shame, truly.” Khan purrs, placing a hand over the one wrapped around his chiseled bicep. “I would love to get to know you better.”

 

Connor giggles. An actual, full-on, small child giggle.

 

“Okay, we’re going to eat.” Tubey orders the room and then storms out, leaving the rest of them little choice but to follow her out. Which is really for the best. The sexual tension on the bridge could have been cut with a chopstick.

  
  


*.*

  
  


Lunch is… an awkward affair. It’s a lot of silent eating by most people while Connor and Khan flirt  _ shamelessly _ with each other. Peter really can’t take it much longer.

 

And apparently neither can Saavik. “I’m going to check on the engines.”

 

“And I’m going to help!” Demora stands up so fast she knocks her chair over, hastily righting it before bolting out of the room ahead of Saavik.

 

Which is great for them, they get to leave the room. And Demora gets to go tortue a prisoner, which is a pastime of hers. (Hopefully at least one person at the table bought her lie about the engine rooms, though.)

 

Their abrupt departure does give a great segue for conversation though.

 

“So, Khan…” Peter stops himself. “Can I call you Khan?”

 

“Certainly, Captain.”

 

Peter flashes what he hopes is a polite smile. “I was just wondering what you were looking for aboard my ship.”

 

Khan’s previously genial smile becomes almost predatory. “A mutineer.”

 

Connor blinks bambi eyes at him. “Really? I’m sorry.”

 

“Yes, it was quite a blow.” He sighs with such a heavy air that Peter knows what’s coming next: a supervillain monologue.

 

“John Harrison was my second in command, and a personal friend which made his betrayal sting all the more. We fought together, lost brothers together, and eventually… were defeated together, when we planned our great escape to the stars. So you can imagine when I learned of his betrayal I was… overcome.”

 

Khan shakes his head and squeezes Connor’s hand again before continuing. “When Admiral Marcus came looking for me, he thawed out Harrison by mistake, who then, as you well know, went on a killing spree in my name. He nearly got all of the people he had the audacity to call family killed over a shot at glory, and tarnished my good name in front of the entire galaxy. And when I discovered the depth of his crimes he ran rather than face justice, and for this…” Khan looks at Peter directly and there is a dangerous glint in his eyes as he finishes. “For this, Captain Kirk, he will face my  _ wrath. _ ”

 

The crew seems the gulp collectively as the tension in the room spikes suddenly. The thing is, Peter believes him. He knows who Khan Noonien Singh is, a genetically modified super soldier from one of the bloodiest times in human history, a man who has slaughtered armies, toppled nations, and walked away from it all unscathed into a whole new century. If he wants someone dead, there isn’t much hope for that poor son of a bitch.

 

Right now, the only thing keeping John Harrison alive is the fact that Peter and his family are standing between him and the actual wrath of Khan. As a good Captain, it’s now Peter’s job to get his crew out of the way.

 

“I wish there was something we could do,” Peter hedges. “But as you can see, we don’t have your man.”

 

“And you must be needed back on your ship,” adds Tubey, clearly trying to shove him out the door. She’s never been one for tact.

 

“Ah, but there  _ is  _ something!” The darkness lifts from Khan’s expression, and he’s back to impersonating Michelangelo's David. “My crew and I are, shamed as I am to admit it, a little out of place. Or rather, out of time.”

 

David’s eyes narrow. “Your point being?”

 

“I could use some more crew, especially some locals to help us hunt down Harrison. And you’re ship is rather small, and judging the two ladies abrupt departure, not in the best repair. You could come with me.”

 

“I’d rather not,” David all but growls. “Fake-Khan killed my dad, and my grandfather. I’d like to steer clear of your entire crusade.”

 

Khan’s face lights up. “Ah what better reason to join us, young Kirk? Vengeance is a sweet dessert.”

 

“Marcus.” Jo speaks for the first time since her outburst on the bridge.

 

“I beg your pardon?”

 

“His name isn’t Kirk, it’s Marcus.”

 

The oiled demigod blinks before plastering a remorseful look on his face. “My apologies, Mr. Marcus. Regardless, the offer stands.”

 

“Thank you, Captain Singh, but I’ll have to decline.” It takes all of Peter’s admittedly impressive self control to keep a pleasant smile frozen on his mouth. Thanks, sa-mehk, for all those years of diplomacy practice. “I do wish you the best, though.”

  
  


“Unfortunate, but I understand.”

 

Out of nowhere, Connor blurts, “I’ll go with you.”

 

Khan’s face lights up, “Wonderful!”

 

“Whoa, hang on a moment,” Peter feels fear grip his chest. “Connor, you can’t just leave the  _ Shu fu, _ you’re our linguist, we need you.”

 

“Exactly, Peter, I’m your translator. And Khan needs one more than you do at the moment.” He catches sight of the glare his sister is shooting him and quickly looks away. “You all speak Standard, and between everyone you can handle Vulcan, Romulan, Klingon, and Illyrian. You’ll be fine.”

 

“I would greatly appreciate to borrow your crewman, Captain,” Khan adds.

 

Peter takes a deep breath, and kicks Jo under the table before she has the chance to speak. David he’s not worried about. His cousin is just staring blankly at Connor like he thinks he’s dreaming.

 

“Connor, can I talk to you a minute?” He jerks his thumb at the door. “In private?”

 

“Yeah, sure.”

 

They head out into the hall, Tubey following behind uninvited. The door barely closes before she snaps at her twin, “How much smoke did you inhale earlier, Three?”

 

“Quite a bit, actually, but I know what I’m doing, Two. You got to trust me.”

 

Peter rubs his eyes. “This is a bad time for your sexual awakening, Connor.”

 

He shakes his head. “I’m just going to go get them a little more prepared for our century, okay, and then we’ll meet back up and I’ll come home.”

 

“I can’t allow you to do this.”

 

“I’m doing it, Peter.”

 

“By Surak’s teachings, what kind of spell does he have you under?” Peter is losing his patience. “We’re going to beam him back to his ship and part as unlikely acquaintances, and that’s the end of it, do you hear me?”

 

Connor sighs, and shakes his head. “Tubey, please. Help me out here.”

 

She purses her lips, staring both of them down simultaneously somehow. “Fine, but only if you promise me you’ll keep an eye on things. And call me if you need an extraction.”

 

“Alright, I was going to anyway!”

 

Peter looks at the ceiling for help. “Is anyone going to explain to me what the hell is going on?”

 

“Later,” Tubey hisses. “Just let him go.”

 

“What?”

 

“I’ll explain later. I promise. Just let him go with Khan.”

 

Peter knows when he is beaten. “This is a terrible plan. You both can see that, right? It’s important to me that you know this, Connor.”

 

“Don’t worry, Captain. I’ll be fine.”

 

Peter has a real bad feeling about this.

  
  


*.*

  
  


Peter’s bad feeling just keeps getting worse. There’s a twist in his gut as they walk back into the mess. A feeling like a punch to the liver when Connor tells Khan that he’s going with him, and Jo storms out of the room in response (which was probably the smartest thing she could have done).

 

His chest is aching as Connor packs a bag and says goodbye. But he trusts Tubey, and she said this is what should be done, so it’s happening. But after he beams them over and the  _ Botany Bay  _ starts receding into a speck on the viewscreen, he feels as though they have made a terrible mistake.

 


	7. Chapter 7

The Botany Bay disappears from the Shu Fu’s viewscreen in a flash of warp blue, and Peter is left feeling… strangely bereft.

 

“That was a good idea, right?” He asks, staring at the stars twinkling across the empty screen. “We will get him back.”

 

“I would not have allowed him to board if I thought we wouldn’t,” Tubey says. “No, he will contact us soon enough, and even if he doesn’t, we should have minimal difficulty tracking him.” She touches Peter’s elbow gently. “Do not be afraid, Peter— Connor will not allow himself to be harmed, not even by Khan.”

 

Peter huffs a humorless laugh, turning to meet her gaze.

 

“‘Not even by Khan,’” he repeats quietly, arching an eyebrow. “An interesting choice of words.”

 

Tubey doesn’t speak. After a moment, Peter thinks he needs to prompt her.

 

“What makes Khan so special?” he asks. “Besides everything else, I mean. Connor was…”

 

“Titillated, yes.” Tubey hums. “It is… an Illyrian thing.”

 

“... Elaborate, please?”

 

Tubey fidgets, which is strange, because she never fidgets.

 

“It is… a fixation,” she says after a moment. “It is unique to the Illyrian experience— the closest approximation I can think of would be Uncle Spock’s bond with Uncle Jim.” She reaches out, fingers brushing Peter’s elbow. “Our mother experienced it when she met our father. She told me that she looked at him, and the whole world stopped, just for a moment.”

 

Peter stares at her.

 

“So, what you are telling me,” he starts, words slow and measured. “That Connor zinged with one of the most prominent dictators of the twentieth century?”

 

“... I can’t believe Hotel Transylvania is your point of reference,” Tubey says, letting her hand fall away. “But as much as it pains me to say it— yes. He zinged with Khan. But that doesn’t make him stupid— he will contact us once he has assessed the danger Khan and his people pose on the loose.”

 

“And if he can’t contact us?” Peter asks. “What then?”

 

“Then I will find him.”

 

“But how?”

 

“Peter, surely you have realized who my mother is by now.” Tubey arches an eyebrow. “Connor and I are microchipped, just like everyone else in the family— and more importantly, Mother gave us the access codes when we joined the crew, in case of emergency.”

 

“Wait a second, you guys are microchipped?” David asks, eyes wide as a smile begins to creep across his face. “Like dogs?”

 

Peter can see Tubey mentally counting backwards.

 

“No, David— your father is microchipped like a dog,” she says. “Because he can’t be trusted with the knowledge that Mother can track him. Connor and I are chipped like people whose parents love them.”

 

“And we’re moving on,” Peter announces. “So you can track Connor. Should we be doing that now, or…?”

 

One of the consuls begins to flash.

 

“Incoming message,” Jo says, leaning over to look. “Fuck, it’s Kragor.”

 

Peter swears.

 

“Onscreen,” he says, striding over to his chair. Jo nods, and a moment later, the backdrop of space disappears in favor of the ugliest, one-eyed Klingon Peter has seen— and he’s seen a lot of them.

 

“Captain Kirk,” Kragor rumbles, smiling meanly into the camera. “We have not talked in a while, and I am beginning to wonder— have you failed to complete the task I set out for you?”

 

He keeps talking, but Peter stops paying attention, cursing as he remembers that— right, he’s on a job. They’re all on a job, and there’s a guy tied up in their cargo hold who could put their next paycheck in jeopardy if they don’t move their asses now.

 

“Aim us towards Klingon space,” he orders, ignoring the way everyone scrambles. “Full speed ahead— we’ve got a job to finish, preferably before that bastard puts bounties on all our heads.”

 

“He totally would, too,” David mutters, collapsing into his usual chair.

 

“Warp six in five, four, three, two, one.” Saavik’s soothing monotone echoes through the halls of the Shu Fu. “If you have not put on your seatbelts… tough.”

 

As the ship shoots itself through the black, Peter sits back and closes his eyes.

 

There’s a lot going on, after all. He needs a moment to meditate on it.

 

As he slips into the depths of his own mind, he feels a gentle press of hands against his shoulders before the physical world falls away completely.

 

(He doesn’t need to be aware to know that it’s Tubey who’s touching him, though.)

  
  


*.*

  
  


Khan gives Connor his own quarters, of course, introducing him to a blur of crewmates that Connor hardly remembers. He’s walking around in a daze, taking in the richly-furnished— if somewhat outdated— rooms with absent-minded curiosity as he waits patiently for Khan to come back. Because he will come back, Connor knows. He may not feel it as strongly as Connor does, but there’s something there in the air between them, something that fills Connor with a strange, floaty feeling that makes him want to laugh and hide his face in his hands at the same time.

 

(Besides, Khan promised to have dinner with him. It would be rude if the man didn’t show up.)

 

As if on cue, the doors to Connor’s room slides open and Khan steps inside. He’s changed his clothes, switching from the reds and golds of what Connor thinks might have been ceremonial robes to a plain black robe, leggings, and sturdy-looking black boots.

 

The plunging neckline remains, which Connor is pleased to see. He takes a moment to appreciate it before speaking.

 

“You have a beautiful ship, Captain,” he says, finally meeting the man’s eyes.

 

Khan nods, the corner of his mouth turning up into a strange, half-smile.

 

“Yes,” he agrees. “My servants spent months refurbishing it in secret— even then, I knew war was coming.” He takes a step forward, watching Connor carefully. “I imagine it looks rather dated, nowadays.”

 

“Like stepping into a strange past,” Connor agrees. “I studied the Eugenics Wars, you know— Mother insisted.”

 

Khan cocks his head.

 

“Mother insisted,” he repeats, amused. “And, pray tell, why did your mother insist on including the… Eugenics Wars in your studies?”

 

Connor shrugs.

 

“Mother had to make hard choices, in her day,” he says. “I think it is the closest she will ever come to telling us anything beyond… well, I suppose it doesn’t matter. The point is, I’ve come across your name in places beyond your Starfleet casefile.” He shifts. “You are even more intriguing in person.”

 

Khan chuckles darkly.

 

“Well, I’m happy to hear it,” he says, taking another step forward. “Connor Three Pike is an unusual name.”

 

Connor hums.

 

“Mother is Number One,” he says. “The last of her people. Now, there are three— she named us appropriately.”

 

Khan arches an eyebrow.

 

“You are not Human,” he realizes.

 

“Only half.”

 

“Strange.” Khan is shorter than Connor is by a few inches, but that doesn’t mean he isn’t intimidating. If Connor weren’t who he was, he would be frightened by the hungry look in the other man’s eye. “You look Human.”

 

“Looks can be deceiving.”

 

“Many things can be deceiving,” Khan agrees. “Which is why I am curious as to your true intentions.”

 

“What do you mean by that, Captain?”

 

Khan is fast, faster even than Connor’s eyes can track. He catches Connor’s wrists in his hands, his grip like iron when Connor tries to pull away. With a strength Connor has only experienced when sparring with Saavik, he pushes Connor back into the wall, eyes intently watching Connor’s face.

 

“To leave your crew so easily speaks to me of duplicitous purpose,” Khan says, his face so close to Connor’s he can feel the other man’s breath ghost across his lips. “Particularly in light of your… connections.”

 

Connor feels himself go pink at the show of strength, the sudden intimacy of their position. He can’t break Khan’s grip, and while he most certainly isn’t powerless, there’s a certain thrill that creeps down his spine as he feels his breath go ragged.

 

“Well, Connor?” Khan asks, and his smile is sharp and dangerous and lovely.

 

“The crew understands,” Connor blurts out. “This is— instinct.”

 

And duplicity, sort of. After all, he technically is supposed to be spying, no matter how fascinated he is by the hunk currently pinning him to the wall like it’s nothing.

 

Khan tilts his head.

 

“Instinct?” he asks. “Alien instinct?”

 

Connor laughs, then, bright and breathless and helplessly delighted.

 

“Not to me, it’s not,” he says. “Apparently. It’s all very new.”

 

Khan stares at him a moment, brow furrowed as he searches for Connor’s lie. There isn’t one— Connor hasn’t lied yet, even if he is omitting the whole spying bit— and after a moment, Khan smiles.

 

“I do hope you’re not lying to me, Mr. Connor,” Khan says, and he’s so close Connor can count the golden speckles in his dark eyes. “It will end badly for you if you are.”

 

And then, Khan is kissing him, and it’s raw power and absolute control and wow, Connor has been missing out.

 

Well, with any luck, he’ll be able to catch up quickly enough.


End file.
